A Spring poem

To welcome the new!

I wrote this (the poem) this morning, almost as an affirmation.

Today, life feels like a carpet of green untouched lawn.

Hey…it’s early! Give it time! ;)

Nah, actually the end of March always brushes my heart like the softest, roundest blusher brush.

It was this time 12 years ago that I discovered I was pregnant with my son. Those early days when I hadn’t told anyone at all, were the wobbly legs of a new lamb.

I would walk to work, talking to my baby who was all but a jumping bean in my cradling womb. I was so full of eagerness, excitement and a little anxiety.

The hedgerows were alive with nesting birds, their beaks laden with twigs.

Each sky shared my mood. The grimacing grey would gurgle drizzle in bloated clouds like an unpleasant mouthwash. This would mirror the brooding doom of my morning sickness. There we would stride, in solidarity until the most magnificent toffee hammer of dazzling sun would appear - splitting my emotions into all these strange shards of light that grew as a crystal cocoon around us.

As the daffodils leaned in to hear me chatting (because I really did speak aloud to him!) the Doris Day song ‘Secret Heart’ would always come to mind, the bit where she talks about telling her secrets to the daffodils!

This morning, as I remembered those precious moments, I wrote this. To remind myself of the hope around me.

The bellies filling, yellow spilling.

If you are feeling a little low, please read it and taste the stripes of life with me.

The wisps of everyday wonder that whisper so softly to our soul, yet are the most important language any of us can become fluent in.

Song of Spring

I rise, a lark with brightened heart

Alive on silver wings

Kiting my spark, a trail of foil

The blaze of child I bring

I trust the broom of bristling March

To oust each sorry voice

As willow twists, the birch shall arch

To scaffold cherry choice

.

Clean chimes of cheep claim every street

With sweeping bleeds of sound

I hear the flap of happy sheets

Taut washing line and wind

Old cobbles dapple, grim to gem

Host rays peeping from branches

As dew is ferried, root to stem

To blossom apple chances

.

I have survived the crushing dark

And now, I welcome Spring

The swollen gold in daffodils

Lights beggars, babies, Kings

The rolling hills bowl foals of play

Who dares run with wild horses?

My eyes are wide, see banquet day

Fresh joy, abundant sources